


Soft Hearts, Electric Souls

by SaunteringVaguelyDownwards (DrowningInStarlight)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ancient History, Angst, Emotional Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Natural Disasters, Pompeii, Roman era, Volcanoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 12:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13717449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningInStarlight/pseuds/SaunteringVaguelyDownwards
Summary: "What aweek," Aziraphale said with a forced brightness. He looked tired, but like he was trying his best to hide it.Crowley wordlessly pushed over the second flagon of cheap spiced wine, the only thing this tavern was serving. Aziraphale took it without complaint, and continued. "I suppose you've heard?""Yes," Crowley said slowly. "I've heard."Or, the world is a brutal place, and who is left to pick up the pieces when a strong person falls apart?





	Soft Hearts, Electric Souls

**Author's Note:**

> It's my birthday today, so I decided to treat myself to some angst. :D 
> 
> I've read some other Pompeii themed fics, and they are so good and I love them, this fic is a tribute to all of those wonderful writers out there. Thanks for doing what you do! 
> 
> Title is from House of Memories, by Panic! At the Disco. 
> 
> Enjoy.

When you'd lived as long as Crowley had, you saw the world change. Often he'd label these changes good or bad, but really it was just _change_ , cold and impassionate. Normally, Crowley just dealt with it, and moved on, or it happened so slowly he didn't even notice things were different until years down the line. But sometimes, it hit him like a whip lash, stinging and bitter. And there was never enough time to say goodbye. 

 

***

 

The day before everything changed, they met in a tavern.

 

They often did, Crowley noted. For an angel, Aziraphale certainly seemed to spend a remarkable amount of time hanging around dingy little places late at night. He slumped down at Crowley's table, which had a conveniently empty seat. 

To say Crowley had been expecting him would've been a little strong. One does not _expect_ to meet one's mortal -- or in their case, immortal -- enemy down the local, having a pint. But he'd had a sneaking suspicion that the angel would make an appearance. He always seemed to turn up when their world was about to be shaken, and this was practically the _definition_ of a world shaking event. He'd got a second drink, just in case. 

 

"What a _week_ ," Aziraphale said with a forced brightness. He looked tired, but like he was trying his best to hide it. 

Crowley wordlessly pushed over the second flagon of cheap spiced wine, the only thing this tavern was serving. Aziraphale took it without complaint, and continued. "I suppose you've heard?" 

"Yes," Crowley said slowly. "I've heard." He looked closely at Aziraphale. His tunic was covered in what appeared to be ash -- and as a demon, Crowley felt qualified to recognise ash -- and his face was covered with scratches, like he'd lost a fight with a thorn bush. He really did look tired, deadly tired. 

"Well?" Aziraphale prompted. 

"Well _what_ , angel? So this whole place is going to be destroyed in matter of days. Nothing I can do. Where have you been? I expected you earlier."

All right, he _had_ been expecting Aziraphale to turn up, or maybe hoping he would. It was lonely, being the only one with this knowledge, and Crowley had never been a fan of loneliness. 

" _I've_ been _doing something_ ," he said pointedly. "Talking to people, calling in favours." 

"And how did that go for you?" Crowley asked, gesturing at him. "Because it doesn't look like it went too well." 

Aziraphale huffed in annoyance. "At least I'm trying!" 

"I'm a demon," Crowley pointed out. "I'm supposed to like this stuff." 

"But you don't, do you? I _know_ you like this place. We've both lived here for years, don't pretend you don't know that." 

"You don't understand. I'm going to get a _bloody_ commendation for all this, I just know it. Volcanoes, lava, this is right up their street. You probably will too, mind you -- extinction of sin, and all that."

"Oh, surely not," he said, looking distressed. "They wouldn't --" 

"Angel. You know damn well they would." 

Aziraphale took a long drink out of his flagon. "Ugh. I thought this place was supposed to be renowned for _good_ wine." 

"Yeah, well. Not if you go drinking with demons in taverns like this one." 

"Crowley, what are we going to do?" Aziraphale asked, a lost expression coming over his face. 

"Nothing we can do. Just got to get out of here, and wait until the dust settles." He hesitated for a second, then added "Come with me?" 

One thing he knew for definite was that he didn't want the angel staying here, and tearing himself up inside for not being able to save everybody. Aziraphale had something of a record for doing that. Time after time Crowley had arrived on the scenes of battles or devastating fires, and had ended up taking Aziraphale home with him because he didn't trust him to be alone. 

He knew they both had something self-destructive inside them. And who else would pick up their broken pieces until they could go on again, except each other? A mutual arrangement, someone to stay the night with, and allow them to bury the darker instincts in wine and bickering. Exactly as they were doing now. 

"I can't come. I have to help, I can't just walk away... Thank you, though. For the offer. I appreciate it." 

Crowley nodded. "If you change your mind, I'm sure you can find me." 

"Where will you go?" 

"I don't know. I can't be here, though, I just _can't_ \--" 

"You've seen the animals leaving? It could be any day." 

"I know. And your side thinks they're causing it, and mine thinks they are, and probably only God knows why it's really happening now and I'm not even sure if He does any more." 

"This is supposed to happen," Aziraphale said, "It must be, because it's happening and there's a plan and -- and... I wish... Oh, I wish it didn't have to go this way." 

"Me too, angel. Me too." 

 

*** 

 

There is never enough time to say goodbye to anything you've truly loved. There is never enough time to convince yourself that _this is it_ , you'll never seen this place again, it'll be gone, gone, _gone._ And Crowley loved Pompeii, loved the hustle of activity and the way the vineyards looked in summer. He'd loved the people, and the houses, and the food, and so, he left. He couldn't bear to watch it all burning, drowning under thick, choking ash. 

 

He didn't go far, though. And when the ash had stopped falling quite so heavily, when there was nothing but a dense cloud of hanging smoke on top of Mount Vesuvius, he went back. 

There had, of course, been search parties, and looters, and all the normal human responses to to crisis. But now, the sun, dyed a fiery crimson, had long since set, and all was still. All, that is, except for a silhouetted figure, kneeling on the roof of what had been a temple, once.

 

You wouldn't, perhaps, be able to tell that the figure is an angel, but you'd see at once the depth of grief he is feeling. You'd see it in the way he kept his eyes on the ground, as if unwilling to look upon the destruction before him. You'd see it in the way his hands tremble, every so slightly. It is visible in every shaky breath he takes. 

 

Crowley went over, and stood beside him. 

"Can you feel it?" Aziraphale asked. "The pain? They were _terrified,_ Crowley. Oh God, what did they do to deserve this end? Burned, or drowned, or suffocated in ash. I can't..."

"I know."

"How can you know of the love that perished here, _demon?_ " 

Crowley didn't flinch. "If you think I can't mourn, you're mistaken. This was a tragedy, something I never wanted to see. I never wanted this." 

"I'm sorry." 

"Don't be."

"I'm not -- I'm not angry with you. I know this wasn't your fault. I just..." He shook his head. "I don't know. I can't carry this burden. I don't want these memories, I _don't_." 

"Come with me," Crowley said softly. "This isn't the place for such talk. Let the dead rest." 

Aziraphale didn't protest. He just followed. 

They left the roof. All, once more, was still. Ghosts walked.

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse the potential historical inaccuracy (Did romans actually drink spiced wine?) I haven't had time to research as I normally would. 
> 
> Comments/kudos always welcome! :D

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Soft Hearts, Electric Souls (podfic)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13801932) by [darlingsweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingsweet/pseuds/darlingsweet), [SaunteringVaguelyDownwards (DrowningInStarlight)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrowningInStarlight/pseuds/SaunteringVaguelyDownwards)




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